Read Steps to Heaven: A Sgt Major Crane Novel Online
Authors: Wendy Cartmell
Steps to Heaven: A Sgt Major Crane Novel (28 page)
The cold seeped into his bones, making him shiver. From his position under the trees, Padam Gurung could just make out the sports centre, ethereal in the dim light, as if the hopes and dreams of all the athletes that practiced there, surrounded it. He prayed their hopes and dreams would not be shattered as his had been, for he knew how important hope was. Without hope there was nothing.
Shifting his small frame slightly to avoid a sharp branch from the tree he was leaning against, Padam wrapped the army great coat given to him by the Gurkha Welfare Society more tightly around him. His friends back in Aldershot town centre couldn’t understand why he spent night after night outside like this, keeping silent watch over the garrison in general and now the sports centre in particular. But Padam loved to be in the open. After spending a lifetime outdoors, firstly in the British Army and then working his small farm in Nepal, he found the dirty, small flat he shared with five other men, claustrophobic.
Plus, he needed a purpose and what better purpose than being close to his beloved army? Serving it as best he could, even in old age, by standing guard in the cold, early hours of the morning. He chose the sports centre tonight as he felt it was most vulnerable to terrorist attack. After all, what could you do to an athletic track? Plant trackside bombs that would be found by the regular checks? So a building, particularly one containing an Olympic sized swimming pool, squash courts, gymnasium and badminton courts, needed his protection.
He couldn’t get inside, of course, to patrol the actual building, nor could he openly patrol the parameter, so he did what Gurkhas do best. Lie patiently, hidden. Watching. Waiting.
Needing to move, as his old joints were stiffening, he carefully lay face down in the long grass. He wished for a pair of binoculars, although he knew they were of little use at night. But even so they would be better than just his rheumy old eyes. Buying a pair was out of the question, though. He had no possessions to speak of and no money to buy anything with. Lured by the promise that ‘England will look after you’, after the Gurkha Re-settlement Agreement in 2009, championed by Johanna Lumley, he had sold everything he owned in Nepal to pay for his visa and flight. His family were now marooned back in Nepal and he was stranded in Aldershot. His hope for a glorious future in the land he had once fought for, shattered by the reality of life in England.
Glancing up at the sky, he saw the slight lighting that heralded the coming dawn, still about an hour away. He had to be gone at first light. With part of Team GB on the garrison in preparation for the start of the Olympic Games he knew he couldn’t be found, even though his presence was benign. Who would believe him? And anyway how would he be able to explain, with his English limited to basic words such as ‘hello’ ‘goodbye’ and ‘thank you’.
Lifting his head, as he prepared to crawl back under cover of the trees, he saw a flicker of a shadow out of the corner of his eye. Was it something, or just his old eyes playing tricks? Temporary night blindness, after looking at the lighter dawn sky? From his vantage point he had an uninterrupted view of the front of the building and part of the left hand side. But could see nothing beyond the right corner. Taking great care not to move his body and rustle the long grass, his eyes swept from left to right along the length of the sports centre. Nothing. Slowly peering back along the grey frontage he still saw nothing untoward, until he reached the left side of the building.
A black smudge. Low against the wall. Padam waited. The smudge waited. The rising dawn called to Padam, urging him to move so he could return to the town centre safely. But Padam knew he must stay where he was. His arthritic knees locked tight and his thigh muscles went into spasm, but Padam still refused to move. Ignoring the cries of pain that were turning into screams. Until his vigilance was at last rewarded. The smudge left the shelter of the wall and ran low and fast towards a clump of trees about 100 yards distant.
Crawling backwards, stiff legged, into the shelter of the trees, Padam rolled over and began to massage his limbs, slowly coaxing his knees to bend. As he hobbled away in the early light of dawn through the trees towards Queens Avenue, he pondered the thorny question of whom he should speak to about what he had seen.
Here I stand among you, the mischief makers. Those who attack Islam. I am mired in your society, the modernity and the western influence that is also perverting my country. I am engulfed by your media - television, radio, newspapers and magazines. It sickens me how they try to subvert people, especially the young, with song, dance, fashion, alcohol, drugs, sex and freedom.
In your towns I see citizens gorging themselves on un-necessary trinkets. Electronic nick-knacks they insist they cannot live without. Bigger, better televisions, radios, mobile phones and computers. All the while worshiping their God - money. This way of life is abhorrent to me.
I am disgusted by your young people. Boys who think they are men, who have no respect for themselves, their elders or their leaders. They don’t work, just stand around on street corners openly drinking alcohol. And don’t get me started on your women. I have never seen such sights. Acres of female flesh on show. Women degrading themselves, by allowing men to ogle parts of their body that should only be seen by their husband. Jezebels taunting every man who walks past them in the street. At least on the garrison, I am shielded somewhat from their adulterous provocations.
But even here I cannot escape their tantalising ways. Look here comes one now. A woman serving in your army. A woman who should be at home looking after her husband, children or parents. See how she marches along head proudly held high. The sight is repulsive to me. She should be modestly veiled when in public. By not doing so, she spits in the eye of Muhammad, the Prophet, who is the epitome of all virtue and honour.
But in truth some of the men I have met are no better than their blasphemous women. Yesterday I happened to meet one of the padres on the garrison. A Christian leader, looking after the spiritual wellbeing of the men and women who serve here. He wanted to engage us in ideological and theological discussion, but I found I couldn’t speak to him. Watching him, a man of religion, quaff alcohol - I tell you it made me feel ill. So I made my excuses and walked away. I couldn’t stand it that you evil infidels in the West think that you can pick and choose which parts of your religion to adhere to. Separating out the bits you don’t want and discarding them. Thinking that it’s enough to turn up to church once a week and go through the motions.
For a Muslim this practice is unthinkable. The Muslim world view does not compartmentalise and dichotomise the various areas of life. It is holistic. Our beliefs are incorporated into every area of our daily lives. Our religion tells us how to dress, bathe, eat and pray. No part of a devout Muslim’s life is separate from his Islamic beliefs.
And so it has become our cause to expel the crusaders from our homelands and re-establish Sharia law. This cause is not without reason. We are following the command of the Qur’an. Look, this is the place. Let me share with you for a moment the words from our Holy Book:
Fight those who believe not
In good nor the Last Day,
Nor hold that forbidden
Which hath been forbidden
By God and His Apostle,
Nor acknowledge the Religion
Of Truth. (Qur’an 9:29)
How can you argue with that? You Westerners don’t acknowledge the religion of truth, the Muslim religion. So, for this reason my men and I take part in the struggle. In the jihad. An external struggle against the forces of evil and non-believers. That’s why I am here in your country. In England.
For the time being I am forced to wear a mask. No one must know what lies behind it. My real thoughts and feelings. I will play my part. All the while looking for an opportunity to strike, to teach you, the infidels, a lesson you will never forget.
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